Into the Horizon
by illogicallybold
Summary: "Jim stayed prone on the floor long after his mother had left the room. His tears, trailing down the sides of his face into his hair and dripping to the floor at the nape of his neck made his skin itch, but he did not move. He lay in silence trying to contain the overwhelming sense of hurt and betrayal filling his soul."
1. Calling Out

Calling Out

Melissa stood in the door way of Jim's room. His behavior was the same, the motions, the silence, the obsessive writing, all the same as they had been for the past four hours. His pupils were blown wide, staring unseeing before him as his hands frantically wrote on the page beneath his fingertips.

She was preparing to study language, specifically xenolinguistics at the local community college before trying her hand at Starfleet. Jim, she was sure, was writing in a xenolanguage. It was too precise, too regulated and what appeared to be words repeated in common orders while others appeared rarely. Punctuation and accents ran with the odd symbols she had never seen before. James Kirk was a genius, she knew it deep in her heart but something was truly wrong when he sat so still, staring into space, writing in a language she wasn't even sure he knew.

Melissa flinched as the door to the house opened and shut. Winona was home. Giving Jim one more glance, Melissa met Winona at the landing. She smiled briefly.

"He's been at it for almost five hours now Mrs. Kirk. Tried all kinds of ways to get his attention with no luck. Hopefully he'll respond to you. Call me again if you need a sitter. Jim's a sweet boy." Melissa watched Winona for any emotion, but only saw a slight tightening around her eyes before the woman gave a curt nod and lead her to the front door and showed the young girl out. She would never understand how Winona could love one son with such devotion and somehow despise the other.

Winona made her way slowly to the boy's room wondering if somehow his being here and displaying these odd mannerisms was the universe's way of a cruel joke. The boy looked so much like his father, smiled and laughed like him so much it hurt her, broke her heart and soul into pieces every time the boy lit up with happiness. She knew somewhere in her mind, logically it was not the boy's fault he looked like his father, nor was it his fault George Kirk was dead, but standing in the doorway, watching this boy of no more than five, she could not find it in herself to be sympathetic or loving. She was bereft without George, and the longer she looked at this boy, the pain increased until she could not handle it.

Then as the feelings came to the precipice of her tolerance, something broke in her, shattering in her mind, scarring her soul and instantly she was at the boy's side. Her vision began to blur around the edges and time slowed. She only felt the deep all encompassing grief of her husband's death, of loss and heartbreak. When it overwhelmed her senses and she could not take another second, the emotions receded like waves on a beach.

Her vision cleared and she was calm, but numb. Her body was tense and her right hand throbbed with pain in time with the accelerated pulse of her heart and the panting of her lungs. Her left hand was curled around soft fabric and she was now kneeling on the floor. Focusing on her fisted hand, she recognized the cloth as the shirt Jim was wearing and then her eyes trailed up the boy's chest to his face now ravaged by hand shaped tattoo bruises. She had hit him. Several times with a fierce passion.

Locking her eyes with terror-filled blue, Winona tried to summon sympathy, or caring, or even concern, but could not. She stared at the bruises for a long moment, analyzing the force she used, watching tears leak from the boy's eyes without an ounce of worry or concern, not even regret. She simply did not care.

Standing, Winona looked down at the boy one last time before leaving the room as silent as she had entered.

Jim stayed prone on the floor long after his mother had left the room. His tears, trailing down the sides of his face into his hair and dripping to the floor at the nape of his neck, made his skin itch, but he did not move. He lay in silence trying to contain the overwhelming sense of hurt and betrayal filling his soul.

Something fragile and unique within him had been destroyed upon his mother's hand slapping his face and as her blows continued the psychological pain out weighted the physical. Despair slithered in slowly until it was all he felt. He cried out silently to the universe for affirmation that his life was precious, that somewhere he was needed or wanted. Jim waited for the universe to respond, but he only received cold silence in its wake.

Light years away on another planet, a young boy shot awake. His emotions were unsettled and he knew a precious being was hurting, but he had no evidence other than his own feelings. Logically those feelings were not enough to justify his understanding and conclusion.

Settling back into bed, the boy tried to contain and deal with an overwhelming feeling of despair, however it moved too quickly and engulfed his logic, filling every aspect of his katra before he was able to try. The suffocating feeling brought tears to his eyes and he had no control to stop them from spilling down his pale cheeks.

Down the hall Sarek started awake, knowing instantly something was out of balance. Looking for his wife, he found her already out of the bed and halfway to the door. Following her, he touch his mental bond to his son and was overcome by a wave of despair. The emotion felt like Spock's and yet it was foreign.

Stepping in the room, Sarek hesitated a brief second as Amanda hugged the seven year old to her, trying to calm him as best she could. Then Sarek was next to them, his fingers tracing his son's psi points before gently melding into the dark despair that was over taking the boy's mind. Slowly, he diffused the despair unto himself and gathered the rest to place in a container they would deal with together during their meditation.

Afterwards Sarek did what he thought was best for his son, sending waves of safety, comfort and affection, lulling the fragile mind into rest and repose. He stayed for several long moments after Spock's mind had relaxed into sleep before leaving and watching Amanda tuck him in.

Silently they returned to their bed, and in the darkness pondered what had occurred.

"The despair and loneliness were not his own," Amanda's soft voice stated.

"Indeed not, my wife."

"But he has not been bonded yet either...is it possible...?" she trailed off, worry clouding her thoughts.

"We shall find out tomorrow my wife. Sleep. Be at peace." Sarek tangled their fingers together in a comforting gesture as he felt her relax. Only when he was sure her dreams were peaceful, did he close his eyes and follow her, protecting her as best he could.


	2. OneWay Connections

One-Way Connections

Spock woke with a start, instantly awake, surveying his surroundings. Something was amiss. As his search proved unsuccessful, he relaxed into the silence of the night, pondering what might have stirred him from his sleep. Agony blending into despair raged in his mind. The connection had been reestablished, and quickly Spock began to follow it. For the past ten years, he had been experiencing bouts of emotion not his own. Mind healers could not find a reason and it appeared that the connection to this other being lasted for only so long be for it would be lost. They have never been able to determine why he was the recipient of these emotions, only giving him more mental training in the conquering of emotions to help him deal with the random episodes.

It had been three years since the last connection and yet somehow these emotions seemed more tangible... Even closer perhaps. Following the connection, Spock found the other mind for the first time. Tracing along the outer layer, Spock was bombarded with sharp pain interlacing with jagged despair and soft hopelessness. Cradling all these emotions however was a fierce protectiveness and devotion. This being began to overwhelm Spock with it's immense emotions. Struggling to keep control, Spock dove further to gather information on the identity of this being, but all he heard was a mantra being chanted as if through clenched teeth in desperation.

_Protect the others. Protect the others. Protect the others..._

Spock got a glimpse of men in uniforms, small starved children and blood shot blue eyes before he was again alone in his mind, body panting and thrumming with adrenaline as if he was the one being chased. The Vulcan slowly took control of his body through will alone, and settled back into his bed. He needed three point two-four more hours of sleep to be prepared for his exams at the VSA tomorrow. Brown eyes stared solemnly into the darkness for several long moments, his thoughts lingering on the bloodshot blue eyes before surrendering once again to sleep.

Jim stared out the window of the USS Reliant, medical bay scrubs barely hanging on his thin shoulders and narrow hips. From so far away, the planet looked fine. Forested areas, bodies of water, flat land, clouds... It looked like a perfect M-class planet, but Jim knew better. He knew the ground was muddy with blood, crops were devastated, water contaminated, buildings destroyed... Shifting slightly, he focused away from the planet, to the inky black space surrounding it. The darkness settled deep in his mind and allowed him to relax.

Before long the familiar whispers of logical thoughts, equations, facts, observations filled his mind. He knew they were thoughts from another person, somewhere in the universe, and long ago he had deciphered the language to be Vulcan in syntax. Logic would than dictate, somehow, he was connected to a Vulcan. Jim had been relaxing to this person's thoughts for years now, long before he knew what this was. If he was honest with himself, in the height of the terror and despair, it was the only thing that kept him going, kept the him protecting the others, kept him from giving up.

He was so focused on the connection, Jim did not hear the observation deck door open or shut. Soft measured steps paced the room to stop next to the boy. Jim found focused black eyes observing him as he surfaced to his surroundings. Black eyes, slightly pale olive skin, meticulous hair and pointed ears. A Vulcan. In Starfleet attire.

For several uncomfortable moments, Jim stared at the female Vulcan in front of him, before raising his hand in the ta'al and bowing slightly. The Vulcan's eyebrow rose, as she reciprocated the gesture.

"May I make an inquiry, young sir?" the woman asked, voice stoic but not cold. Jim nodded turning toward the observation window again, eyes cataloging the various star types in this sector of space.

"How did you come to know the ta'al? Some in Starfleet recognize the gesture, however few non-vulcanoid beings know of it." Jim paused for a moment, wondering if he should lie to this Starfleet officer or tell her the truth. She was Vulcan. It was possible she could give him guidance on this connection or provide a way for Jim to finally meet the other who shares his mind.

"For as long as I have known there has been this...connection to another being. In my head. They only speak in Vulcan... Throughout the years I have been able to learn from them, but it is always one way. He connects to me or I to him. Never together. I do not think he even registers when I connect to him anymore."

"Telsu?" the Vulcan questioned. Jim's eyes narrowed, tasting the word in his mind, chanting it. Familiar and not, but than as if he had learned it long ago, it came to him and slipped from his lips.

"Bonded." Black eyes narrowed at the human child before her. She had never heard of a case such as he presented. All bondings were consensual and never spontaneous. "You know not who your bonded is?"

"No," was the soft reply.

"Focus on your telsu, asking ra ahm." Jim flicked his eyes to the Vulcan for a moment before shrugging and focusing on the 'other' while chanting, ra ahm. Slowly the logical thoughts seeped into his mind, relaxing and calm like lemonade on a warm spring afternoon. As he chanted the question, one word began to repeat in response. He grasped at it, savoring its foreign feel, embracing it, instantly knowing. This was the other. His telsu was-

"Spock."


	3. Communications and Puzzles

Communications and Puzzles

T'Priya pulled the edges of her uniform, ensuring it was in place while the connection to Vulcan was made. The human boy was a most perplexing puzzle. Silent, stoic and extremely protective of the children he came in with. While the others cried, raged, and grieved, this small human with barely enough musculature to hold himself up, was unresponsive. There were no tears, no rage, just blunt answers to questions and dull greying blue eyes.

Most curious was the connection he claimed to have with Spock. T'Priya knew of only one Vulcan child by that namesake, which complicated matters even more. She claimed no familial connection to the House of Surak, however her cousin's uncle's grandfather had bonded into the family, long before she was conceived.

"Greetings. I am T'Lei of the High Council. Where shall I direct your call?" interrupted the Vulcan's thoughts. She stared at the blank screen for a moment considering her choices.

"The House of Surak."

"One moment."

Curiosity being what it was and her inability to leave problems unsolved placed her in this precarious predicament. The boy, JT, was not even aware this communication was occurring. Sometimes the intrinsic logic of Vulcan behavior caused more problems than it solved.

The blank screen on her communication flashed several times before revealing a soft pale human face with smiling brown eyes. "Lieutenant T'Priya, I am Lady Amanda of the House of Surak, Wife of Ambassador Sarek. How may I assist you today?"

T'Priya gave the ta'al before she spoke, organizing her thoughts for efficiency.

"My question, Lady, is of a personal nature. It is not to cause concern however there is an interesting child whom I have acquaintance with," brown eyes narrowed for a moment before she spoke.

"Ask you question Lieutenant. There will be no ill will."

"Has your son spoken of a spontaneous bond?"

Lady Amanda was silent for several long moments, intensely observing the young Vulcan before her. No one outside her family and T'Pau, knew of Spock's bond. It had not been spoken of for many years.

"Where are you stationed Lieutenant?"

"The USS Reliant, Lady," was the quick reply.

"We will send you an estimated arrival time in the next hour Lieutenant. Live long and prosper," then the connection was cut and T'Priya was left staring at a blank screen.

"He must have mentioned it."

The Lieutenant stood, straightening her uniform one more time before leaving her quarters in search of her captain. The arrival of an Ambassador would frustrate any captain, however even with this notice, he will probably have choice words. Stepping into the hall, the vulcan pondered briefly, 'I wonder how many illicit words he will substitute in an odd human idiom for this news?'

Twelve hours later Jim woke from a deep drug induced sleep in the medical bay, lethargic. He controlled his breathing so the monitors did not notice he consciousness.

"What-" Jim whispered into the quiet room, wondering what had woken him even with the heavy drugs still pulsing through his blood. Closing his eyes after a long moment of peace, he began to drift back into Morpheus' embrace, however a split second before he fell, his breath was pulled from him. Shooting up, hand clasping his chest, an insistent pulling started in the back of his mind, traveling to his heart and then he was out of the bed, taking steps before he even recognized his body's movements. He was halfway to the exit before the on-duty nurse blocked his way. The pulling sensation turned sharp and painful as he resisted the pull.

"JT! You shouldn't be awake. Let's get you back to your bed," the nurse chastised, grasping Jim's shoulders and turning him back to his biobed. With the drugs running through his emaciated body, his struggles to get out of the woman's grasp were violent shudders and weakly flailing limbs.

"N-n-no! I-I need to get t-to-o hi-i-im!" Jim gasped between breaths as the pain increased.

"It is 2348, young man! Whoever you need to see is asleep," the nurse stated crisply, having dealt with unruly patients before. Tucking him back into the bed, she grabbed a mild sedative hydrospray and adjusted the dose for the boy.

The door to the medical bay opened revealing a young Vulcan in traveling robes. Brown locked with pain filled blue, an instant connection. The human boy opened his mouth several times, trying to get one word out, however the hiss of a hydrospray interrupted his thoughts. As he sunk deeply into a heavily drug induced sleep, Jim gasped out a name, barely a whisper of breath past his lips.

"Spock."


	4. Meeting in the Flesh

Meeting in the Flesh

Jim was drifting through a sea of red sand. The sun was warm against his face and body, relaxing sore muscles and the sweet trill of birds caressed his ears occasionally. Though he knew not where he was, Jim surrendered to the ripping waves of the warm sand as it carried him to an unknown destination.

For hours or days or years, he drifted along the red sea until the sun grew cold and the birds were silenced. The waves turned violent thrashing across his body, tumbling over him, and drowning him in the fine silica particles. Trapped in the torrent of the waves, Kirk gasped for breath, his lungs filling with sand until he could no longer consume air. Choking and gagging on the red sand, desperately trying to breathe, Jim's heart faltered, stuttering to a stop, dying in silence.

The process of death was agonizing and shocking, though the drifting into stillness, into peace was almost worth it. He stood now, not in a sea of red sand, but in space. Expansive black nothingness studded with pinpricks of light surrounded him. He was alone yet something about this place felt like home, like he belonged here. Slowly as he began trekking through the universe, a nagging feeling started at the back of his mind. Something was missing. Kirk stood still, focusing on the sensation.

Not something. _Someone. _

"Never and always, touching and touched," echoed through the space startling Jim. He peered around, spinning in circles, searching for someone.

"Who?" he cried out.

"Never and always, touching and touched."

Jim grasped his hair in frustration. The echo would not stop beating against his mind. Someone was missing, but he didn't know who. Over and over, the chant rang through his ears, overwhelming his thoughts until only those six words were left. He collapsed, curling into himself, gripping the sides of his head as the words poured desperately from his own lips, joining the echo in his mind and the reverberations caressing his body.

"_Never and always, touching and touched… never and always…touching and touched… never … and always… touching… and … touched…."_

Warm hands cradled his face; a touch of skin against his forehead. A familiar connection to his brain and then a soft mellow voice joined him, silencing his mind and quieting the world.

"_Parted from me and never parted, never and always touching and touched. I am here. I am here."_

Jim reached out, wrapping himself around the warm body, burrowing his face into the neck. The thoughts calming his mind were familiar: equations, logic, and observations. The body, warmer than his own with a hidden strength stilled as he latched onto it.

"Are you awake?" Jim shook his head, clinging tighter to the vulcan.

"Your response would indicate consciousness." Huffing out a shocked laugh, Kirk pulled back enough to take note of pale olive skin, pointed ears and deep brown eyes.

"Spock." Not a question, but statement of fact. Jim knew without a doubt, this was the other. His telsu. The young Vulcan's eyebrow rose at the human's logic.

"We have not been acquainted. Logic would dictated we should have no knowledge of each other, however… I have _felt_ you for many years."


	5. Meeting of the Minds

Meeting of the Minds

Blue eyes traced the face of the young man sitting next to his bed, memorizing each feature until the picture was crystal clear when his eyes were closed. After the initial greeting, they separated and discussed how each of them first found the connection. Most of the information both knew, however the reactions from their families had been vastly different.

Jim recounted his mother's blank stare and how she shipped him off to a medical facility to be… tested. He was locked in the hospital for almost three years before they assured his mother he was not disabled, disturbed, or suffering from an imbalance. Days after he was released back into his mother's _care_ she shipped him off to Tarsus…

Spock spoke of his father's brief indecision on how to handle the matter after he found the bond during a mind meld. The subsequent years were filled with extra training in the mind arts, specifically in control and suppression. Both his parents however allowed Spock the final decision on breaking the bond, however by that time, he had lived with it for almost five years and found no harm in keeping it. He never told Jim or his parents how pleased he was to have something so unique a part of him nor how he cherished the connection to another since it was first established. He would protect it and the one he was connected to forever because Spock found the small suffering human boy fascinating. Jim was like a star, drawing Spock in with his gravitational pull and warm bright light. Spock could not escape Kirk, even if he wanted to.

As the silence in the room continued, James asked the question he was uncertain he wanted to know the answer to. "So what now?"

Spock raised an eyebrow at the hesitancy of the blonde's inquiry. "Please be more specific Mister Kirk."

Thin fingers twitched in the boy's lap as his blue eyes took in the room. "Now that we are acquainted, what happens to us?"

Spock straightened his posture, observing Jim's nervous movements while he gathered his thoughts. "My father will confirm our connection through a mind meld, then relay the confirmation to our Clan Mother. Once it is noted in the Clan Archive, I theorize we shall disembark from the Reliant and travel back to Vulcan to speak with a mind healer."

Jim stilled. His mind focusing on Spock _leaving him_ to go back to Vulcan. In the pit of his chest, behind his lungs and slightly below his heart, where hope had begun to grow, an icy ball of despair settled. His life was full of disappointments and Jim knew, as he had the day his mother first laid harsh stokes upon his face, no one wanted him. He wasn't the top priority to anyone… even mind-linked to another, he was just an acquaintance, a piece of a puzzle to be studied and severed. For several moments, as Spock watched an oblivious Jim with growing concern, Kirk allowed the despair to dig gnarled tendrils throughout his body, chilling him to the bone. He wondered if even Death would welcome him, would desire his soul…

_JIM! _

…And as miserable as the thought was, Jim could not help but wonder if his mother would be happier if she knew of his death. If maybe she would have some relief or peace at never having to see him again…

_T'HY'LA!_

…Perhaps, Jim pondered darkly, Tarsus IV was the universe's way of demonstrating his utter uselessness and waste… the children he saved, someone else would have stepped in... He should have died with his cousins…

Darkness lurking at the corners of his mind slowly began to lay waste to edges of Jim's guilt ridden consciousness. Jim was no longer on the USS Reliant with Spock, but being hunted in the forests of Tarsus IV, staving and ill, his feet clumsy against the uneven earthy floor. A faceless creature was catching up to his bumbling steps; Jim, panting, tripped and fell to the moist dirt. His thin body cringing as the man-monster hovered over him. He wished his death would be quick as the figure drew closer, hot breath ghosting over his face…

"Never parted, my Jim," Spock's voice softly caressed James' ear, shocking blue eyes open. Worried brown met his, and instantly Jim was back on the ship, safely with the Vulcan man-childe. "Never parted. We, my father, mother, _you_ and I, shall return to Vulcan. Together. You are not alone."

James watched Spock stand, gliding soundlessly across the floor to the door. He paused at the apex. "I will go speak with my father…" Spock trailed off, and then shifted his feet in an odd gesture of nervousness. "If thee were to die… thee would not be alone for long," the whisper echoed heavily in the room as the door slid shut, leaving Jim alone to his thoughts.

Perhaps Spock would change Jim's opinion of his place in the universe.


	6. The Prince and the Pauper

The Prince and the Pauper

Amanda had lived on Vulcan long enough to decipher and recognize the slightest hints of body language and aborted movements. Her calm face and keen eyes observed the young boy who stood next to her son with interest and a healthy dose of horror. JT, as his soft voice introduced upon entering their quarters, blue eyes angled down and to the right, never quite meeting her or Sarek's eyes head on, stood still and silent next to her son.

The difference between the two was vast and almost comedic if the circumstances were different. Standing as the two did before Sarek, they could have starred as the lead roles in the Prince and the Pauper.

Spock, stiff backed, impeccably dressed and blank faced had his body positioned a slight few degrees in front of JT. While humans would not generally pick up the subtlety of such a stance, Amanda did. Spock was demonstrating his opinion on the matter without saying a word.

JT's shoulders hunched in deeper and deeper as the silence between the three continued. His messy locks of hair curled around his face and ears, fading bruises could still be seen painting his thin body which was clothed in the smallest sized the replicators allowed, and still they dwarfed him. His cold blue eyes however expressed exactly how he felt about the whole situation as they darted around the room, flicking between the occupants before settling on Spock. He shifted in the silence, drawing the attention of all as his hand reached up and grasped Spock's elbow tightly. JT, Amanda mused hiding a smirk behind her hand, decided subtlety could be thrown out the window and chose to be bold, even in his weakened state.

Believing JT had been intimidated enough Amanda chastised her husband. "Sarek, my husband, please desist in trying to frighten our guest. He has suffered enough."

Sarek sighed silently, looking at the waif of a child standing next to his son. Softening his features ever so slightly, the Vulcan nodded.

"Come forward JT." The young man did not hesitate in releasing, and stepping directly in front of, Spock. He turned his face up towards the tall severe looking alien and locked curious blue eyes with stoic brown. Faced with danger, Sarek was mildly impressed at the human's strength of character.

"Spock had informed you of why you are here."

"Yes, sir." The voice was soft, barely making it to Amanda who sat several feet away, but it was strong, tinted with mischief and a heavy dose of sarcasm.

"You understand what the mind meld will entail." JT's eyebrow rose incredulously, as he responded.

"Yes, sir."

"Do you give your consent so I may use my telepathic ability?"

JT was silent for a moment, shoulders shaking, eyes clenched tight, alarming Sarek who almost took a step away from the human and Spock who reached out towards his telsu before stilling as his ears caught an odd stifled hiccupping sound.

Dropping his hand back to his side, Spock's eyebrows rose in shock. Jim was laughing. At his father.

Sucking in a loud deep breath, JT smiled at Sarek with mirth coating his blue eyes. "Sorry. Sorry." Calming himself, Jim took another breath. "Yes I consent to your use of touch telepathy and to the meld and I do understand there might be emotion transference and that I might end up even more crazy than I am, and accept any consequence that might be had because of our minds joining."

"If I may, young human, where do you find humor in our situation?" Sarek could not stop himself from asking.

"The first and only time someone has asked for my consent and opinion on a situation regarding my continuing health and situation came from pacifist alien strangers with mind powers and a very violent history. The humor of the universe is not lost to me at the moment, sir."

Sarek blinked. Having spent the last 65 years working with humans and even living with his own wife, had lead him no closer to understanding the irrationality of the species. They always found ways to confuse or confound him with their illogic.

"Then let's start."

JT nodded, stilling as warm fingers pressed into the left side of his face. For a moment there was nothing and then he felt it - a shifting in existence like dizziness after spinning in circles for too long, but then instant clarity and a dual awareness that he was no longer alone. The other felt calm like a still pond on a warm spring day with a texture of worn linen and a scent of spice. The sensation was odd, not uncomfortable, but briefly disconcerting having been alone for so long.

_Let us begin_, the other spoke, as the search for the bond began. JT paused for a brief moment, knowing somehow at the end of this encounter, Sarek would know _everything_ about his past and he simply did not want to start it off on a lie.

_Sarek… I have something I must confess before we continue. _

_Go on, my child. _

_My name is not JT. My name is James Tiberius Kirk._

Jim felt the other startle and still before continuing his search.

_Your family may indeed pose a problem, James. _

As Sarek sought out the bond, he was impressed at the organized and dynamic mind of this young human. It was compelling and intuitive even with all the darkness settling along the edges. In observing the darkness, the bond was found. The ambassador observed the bright rays of light reflecting off the shadows and searched for the source.

They made their way, following the light source until both stood before the bond, a golden pillar anchored to Jim's mind with a relaxing blue thread twining deeper into the structure. Jim knew if he followed the thread he would find Spock at the other end.

Sarek tried to move closer to the link, but was blocked by an invisible force as Jim drew nearer. Even had he wanted to sever such a bond, Sarek noticed the base of the bond and understood why the mind healers could not find or break Spock's bond. There resting at the base of the pillar, protecting the connection was a shield and sword of ancient Vulcan. The symbol of T'hy'la.

_Fascinating. _


	7. Mothers

Mothers

Standing alone in the observation room, James watches the sunset across Tarsus. Bright purple and red rays embrace the horizon as the rest of the planet is swathed in darkness, as if space pulled a blanket across the planet, tucking it in for the night. He can only make out a dim outline of the continent as the blanket settles. Tarsus is still as his soul. His mind however is focused on the meeting with Spock's parents.

At the end of the meld Sarek and James, stood silently eyes locked for several minutes. Sarek now knew _everything_ about James. His whole life etched into a part of the Vulcan's mind. Having received such knowledge, the Vulcan was unable to offer any words of comfort. The mind of this remarkable young human, was dynamic and engaging, however scars and wounds stood out starkly against the bright soul. They would eventually heal, with help from a healer and his family, however there was another problem he needed to focus on first. Winona Kirk.

Winona Kirk would interfere with any plans to return to Vulcan with Jim. Of this, Sarek was certain. The High Council needed to be contacted, along with Starfleet to determine which ship or starbase Commander Kirk was stationed. Custody papers needed to be prepared and they would need someone within the High Command of Starfleet to vouch for their character and responsibility… Sarek stood from his desk in the guest quarters, crossing to the computer and dialing a familiar code. He waited silently for the connection to be made, patiently planning everything he would need to accomplish before his family could return to their home.

"Captain Christopher Pike speaking." Internally Sarek smirked, Vulcans though peaceful knew how to exert authority and manipulation as well as any other race within the federation, and Sarek was willing to do _anything _for his family, especially if his hand was forced.

"Captain Pike. A situation has come to my attention, and I will need to… cash in a favor you owe me, I believe is the appropriate phrase." The ambassador heard Pike stifle a laugh before responding.

"Ambassador, I have had the pleasure of your acquaintance for fifteen years now and owe you a countless number of favors. This is, however the first one you have requested to use. I am beyond intrigued. Do tell who you have to outmaneuver?" Pike had always been an amusing, if not a stringent and cold human. He was known among the Ambassadors as an unfeeling bastard, with a stoicism rivaling Vulcans. He was useful however, and they had worked together on many projects in the past. Some bordering on illegal, based only on the federation's definition.

Sarek relaxed into his chair, updating Pike on the current situation and what he needed from the captain. It was a successful start to his plan.

Ten light years away, staring unseeing into the inky depths of space, stood Winona Kirk on an abandoned observation deck. Thirty-five hours prior, she had received news of the Tarsus massacre. Her ship was on it's way to offer relief to the survivors… or as much as one could offer relief to traumatized, starved people. She was not as optimistic as her other comrades, they were days too late… the damage had been done and all they could do is try to help pick up the pieces. More would die from suicide or the injuries sustained on the planet. The true human brutality and inhumanity would be swept under the rug, for while the media would catch wind of this story, they would never know depths of how the survivors lived day to day, or how their blood soaked into the rich clay red dirt on the planet. Ghosts and the small groups of survivors are the only ones who would know everything that happened on the damned planet.

Winona's mind was focused on the list of survivors. Going over it again and again, methodically. James' name was not there. Her son's name was not on the list. For a moment, her eyes locked with the pale reflection on the window, a deep grief passing across the dull features. Then, a single warm tear trailed from her eye to chin before splattering on the metal floor. She refused to believe he was dead.

When the USS Freedom rendezvoused with the USS Reliant, Commander Kirk was one of many assigned to the first shift, offering help to the survivors. Her group, a small collection of doctors, nurses and medics, beamed to the ship and immediately set off for the medical bay. She checked every bed, every room, and any place the Survivors were known to visit. James was not found. Upon realizing the likelihood of his survival was minimal, especially with the bodies of her family found, Commander Kirk paused near the guest quarters, hand resting against the bulk head. George's last gift to her was stolen silently, without her knowledge. She could not fight, for her foe was inevitably her own self. She was just as broken as the survivors she was here to help. A door at the end of the hall opened and closed with a soft hiss. The silence was disturbed by two sets of feet, sedately approaching her position in the corridor.

She straightened her back, pulled her uniform into place and stared toward the steady beat of feet coming her way, an odd synchronous sound. The musical quality to the steps abruptly stopped, as the owners halted upon seeing her. Winona's heart stilled as her eyes drank in every detail of the blond youth. Icy blue eyes, pale skin tight against his bones, messy hair curling around his face. Were they closer, she would see a faint scar running along the underside of his chin from his childhood. James was alive! Winona tried to call out his name, but her breath stuttered and her throat closed. She took one faltering step towards the boys only to frown at her son. Her _son_, willful, stubborn, headstrong, hunched unto himself and stepped behind his companion, out of her view. Why, she wondered confused, why would he hide from her.

"James does not wish to have any contact with you at this time Commander Kirk," a stoic voice called out bring her focus to the other, his son's companion. She watched as the boy turned his head to speak to her son in low tones. This would not do. This boy would not speak for her son as if she were nothing but a stranger or acquaintance. She was his _mother_! Anger and frustration coursed through her, washing over her relief. Who was this boy, talking as if he had rights to Jim, as if he had claim to her flesh and blood. James was her son, her claim to him was the only one that mattered.

"You know nothing Vulcan! He is my son, and we will have words," her voice rang out sharply. The Vulcan shifted half a step removing Jim entirely from her view. His dark brown eyes narrowed into a ferocious glare.

"James is under my family's protection. It is his choice entirely, if he wishes to engage you in conversation. Until such a time, you will ensure our paths do not cross. You will not seek him out. You will leave him be. If you do not, Mother or no, Starfleet personnel or not, I will ensure you are dealt with in proper Vulcan fashion dating back to the pre-surakian era."

Winona stared into the dark eyes of the Vulcan unflinchingly. This mere man-child would not stand in her way. She would not allow it. Her son should be with his family while he recovers from this tragedy. Striding to the boys, she stopped a foot away, locking eyes with the Vulcan.

"Under federation law, as James' mother and guardian, I have every right to remove him from your…" she paused, eyeing the closeness of the boys with thin veiled disgust, "your care and return him to his family and home in Iowa." Commander Kirk watched the muscles in his jaw tense and his dark eyes narrow with grim satisfaction. "If I have to get an armed escort to remove him from your company I will, however I do believe an ambassador's son would not want such… scandal. Especially with the Federation media focused on the survivors of the Tarsus massacre. How favorably would they place your father and family, if they knew you refused to let a survivor reunite with his family?"

To this Spock had no response. This manipulative Starfleet wench would be dealt with soon, however he knew his father needed more time and that meant only one thing… leaving Jim in his mother's custody. Turning toward his companion, Spock rested the fingertips of his right hand on the human's cheek as he breathed out his name.

Jim, who had observed the conversation, froze as understanding coursed through him. His blue eyes locked with guilt ridden brown. He couldn't… not again.

"No."

"It is only temporary James. I promise, we will not leave without you," Spock whispered softly, trying to reassure his human.

"Please, don't." James' tone was broken and desperate. His graying eyes pleading with Spock to find a solution, to never leave him, to save him from his mother. The Vulcan, for all his intelligence, his education and accomplishments, could not come up with a logical solution to protect James. Legally, he could not keep James from his mother and they both knew it.

"James, I cannot…"

"Jim come with me now or I will call security," Winona interrupted sharply.

Spock watched his t'hy'la wrap his arms around his chest, casting a quick glance at Spock before following his mother down the corridor until they were out of sight.

"T'hy'la..." Spock's agonized whisper echoed off the cold metal walls, mockingly.

In this moment Spock finally understood how cruel the universe could be.


	8. Standing Apart, or Standing Alone

Standing Apart, or Standing Alone, An Island of a Man

Darkness was comforting, simple in its pleasure. The gradual plunge into blackness, a lengthening of shadows followed by a slow progression into silence announcing the night for all the world to know. Night could hide you in its arms, protecting you from the nocturnal prowlers searching for weak prey. It can cradle you in its soft lullaby of chirping insects and the gentle hoot of owls. Perhaps the patter of rain whispering with the wind will be the rhythm to drift you along Morpheus' path. Night's darkness on Earth and Tarsus, while different still held a comfort to Jim, but this, locked in a guest room on the USS Reliant, set him on edge.

It had been 70.49 hours since he was in Spock's company and he knew something was wrong. His mind was in disarray, unfocused and searching for his link to the young Vulcan. He could not sleep, for when he closed his eyes Kodos stood in front him as he had on Tarsus before the torture began. He could not eat, everything tasted of ash and dirt and blood; musty, metallic and bitter. He could not see, his room without windows was a four-walled prison enforced by his warden, his Mother. Unfocused and flighty as he was now, he would rid himself of this prison one way or another, escape or…

He searched the room for materials and tools, as the computer had been blocked from accepting his commands the moment his mother locked the door.

Elsewhere on the USS Reliant…

"Mother, he suffers."

Amanda looked up from the computer to her son. His tall frame was shrouded in shadows as he faced the window. She knew he did not see the stars or the sleeping planet they orbited. His focus was internal, monitoring the young human he was connected to, as he had been the past three days. _Mother, he suffers_, had been whispered softly, so many times, in so many ways in the last few days, his worry for the boy escalated as her anxiety for Spock's wellbeing increased.

"Mother, he suffers."

Frowning, she sat focusing on her beloved son. He would flinch away from her touch, should she try to comfort him. "Soon, Spock. We will get him back."

The Vulcan shifted, turning vacant eyes to she who had birthed him, she who loved him, she who was his mother.

"When?"

_When,_ she thought bitterly. If Amanda could give Spock an exact date and time she would, but everything was so vague right now, even with Sarek maneuvering through the politics of this custody case, time was running out, for both her boys.

"Soon," the woman whispered brokenly. Spock turned back to the window, dismissing her. He could feel the changes, the shifting of emotions in his t'hy'la. Hope had been snubbed out, what was left caused the Vulcan to tense in desperation.

"He _suffers_!" the Vulcan hollered as his fist gave one swift punch to the wall, causing his mother to jump out of her chair, heart racing as Sarek burst into the room, moving swiftly toward his son.

"Spock," his father called, quiet and commanding.

"He suffers while I stand here unable to do _anything_. I'd rather be a thief and steal him this night, than spend another without him, knowing how he suffers. Knowing he plans his own death," Spock said, emotion lacing his words, his control almost undone.

"You must meditate."

"I cannot," the young Vulcan denied, fists clenching.

"You must," his father insisted, knowing Spock's control was delicate as a newly hatched bird.

"I will not."

"You will. It is the Vulcan way," Sarek demanded.

Spock's eyes narrowed. "I will not abandon him!"

Sarek stood before his son, tall and stoic, the imperial version of his people. Drawing himself to his fullest height, the ambassador towered over his son with narrowed eyes. For several tense moments he used every ounce of physical intimidation he could, waiting for the moment his young fragile son surrendered to him. Spock's surrender was subtle, a flickering of his bloodshot eyes to the ground, a slight hunch in his shoulders.

Closing the distance, Sarek grasped Spock's shoulders, waiting until brown human eyes met his dark emotionless Vulcan eyes.

"My son, you will not abandon him by meditating. I will show you how to monitor your link… even while you complete the stages." Stepping back and releasing his son, Sarek nodded towards the adjacent room. "Come, we will meditate together." As Sarek nudged them reluctantly along, the older Vulcan sighed. "I admire your determination and loyalty to James Kirk, my son, but you will do him no justice if you are not functioning at 100%." Closing the door, they moved into kneeing position, side by side. "If he suffers, as you say," Sarek whispered, "he will need your strength to rely on, upon his release."

Spock shifted, eyebrows furrowed in thought. "Do you mean…? When?"

Sarek closed his eyes, a grim smile following him into the first stage. "Soon, my son. Within the next 8.23 hours. Now meditate."

Closing his eyes, guided by his father's words, Spock meditated while connected to Jim.

In his prison of a room, James T. Kirk sat on the floor surrounded by bits and pieces. The intercom, the door code-pad and his personal music player had been dissected, fragments and parts gently pulled apart into components and possibilities. A hair dryer, knife and miscellaneous fragments were turned into a soldering iron and Jim sat hunched over his work, nimble fingers examined and discarded parts and pieces, as he worked to build his creation.

Death, he decided in a brief moment of clarity, would cause harm to Spock, the one person he did not wish to harm, however if he could visually communicate with him, console him, explain to him how his death was the only option. Then… then maybe his young protector would not suffer as much.

Time was against him, though. His mother was due to return in 3.25 hours, and he needed everything to be complete and finished before she returned. Jim had overheard, last night, his mother's conniving words. She would sedate Jim and transfer him off the USS Reliant to her ship, then have someone spirit him away. Out of the reach of Vulcans, like Sarek and Spock.

Jim would be lost into the vast darkness of the universe.

Stifling a shudder, and shaking his clammy hands, Jim tried to focus on his work. There was only so much time and he refused to be abandoned into the infinite reaches of space. Not again.

In all her years on a foreign planet, away from the known, a literal stranger in a strange land, Amanda persevered. She was not known among the Vulcan community to be a pushover or a submissive individual. While her actions and behaviors had a certain repressed human flare, she embraced the stifling emotionally controlled cultural behavior expected of a Vulcan's wife with a quirk of a smile. She made very few enemies during the first few years of her adjustment, more often slyly and subtly, gaining respect and cold affection from many who crossed her path.

She could be patient, deliberate and vicious when needed, especially in the defense of her family.

Winona Kirk, in Amanda's opinion was just another belittling, harpy, xenophobic human, she had the displeasure of acquaintanceship with. Her mind was not as sharp as a Romulan and she did not hold the passionate honor of loyalty as a Klingon. Kirk was easy prey, and yet there was something disturbing about her personality and behavior. An iciness, or brutality, a possessiveness, when she spoke of her son. He was not a living, suffering being to her, but a possession to keep, locked away from the world. A precious bird in a gilded cage.

Amanda paused before the door. In this moment, standing in neutral territory, seconds before crossing the line into the enemy's stronghold, she stiffened her spine, swallowed the slight lump in her throat and pushed all thoughts of her family from her mind. In this moment, she was The Ambassador's Wife, The Advocate for Abandoned Children, _The_ Federation Representative for Human-Non-Human Relations. Pulling her dress into place and brushing invisible dust from her skirt, Ambassador Sarek's Wife, requested entrance into Winona Kirk's quarters, a stiff façade of a smile masking the swell of emotions rising within her mind.

Her smile grew a fraction at the startled look crossing over Commander Kirk's face as she recognized _who _stood before her.

"Mrs. Greyson."

Amanda's smile tightened briefly. "Ambassador Sarek's Wife or Mrs. Sarek, please Commander." Shifting forward a step, into Winona's personal space, Amanda softened her look. "Are you busy? May we speak? I have an important matter to discuss with you. Regarding our… sons."

Winona's eyes darkened with a vicious emotion for a fraction of a second before narrowing. Stepping back, Winona smiled and gestured for Amanda to enter, however her eyes flickered to a door in the far back of the cabin, frequently as they took their seats.

Amanda knew without a doubt, if she opened that door, she would find the small suffering teen. Her stomach turned unpleasantly in distress, so close however still galaxies away from saving this young man.

T'Priya stood silently down the hall from the guest quarters holding Commander Kirk and her son. Her youthful face blank of emotions, stared at the Commander's door in suspension. Moments ago, Lady Amanda entered the dwelling, however there was no sound coming from beyond the door. The absence of noise caused the Lieutenant's guts to twist viciously with worry. First and foremost, T'Priya of the House of Sviel, was a Vulcan, then a Federation Citizen, a Starfleet Officer and a woman. Lady Amanda was a protected individual on Vulcan, but here on a Starfleet vessel, she was nothing more than a passenger, and while Commander Kirk was an officer, her behavior put T'Priya on edge, something only le'matyas of her home world could do.

At the top of her class in deduction and analysis, T'Priya uncovered Commander Kirk's service record, medical record and psyche evaluations along with the few scattered records she could find on James Kirk. She had spent hours poring over every detail of the Kirk family, slowly discovering the ugly picture it painted; bold with the dark tint of neglect covering the slight bright highlights of hidden physical abuse, all of it veiled by a plastered on smile of normalcy and dedicated service. Winona was unbalanced, had been for many years, T'Priya could see the subtle instances where it came out in her professional performance, however medical staff swept the problem away with the bitter stamp of stress and a prescription of little red pills for sleep.

The Vulcan woman stood in the disserted hallway for 5.39 minutes before she could finally hear the soft whispers of voices wafting down the hall to her ears.

"Our sons' do not have a connection, Mrs. Sarek. I do not know what my son has been telling you, but he suffers from delusions and is a documented pathological liar." Winona shifted in the stiff chair, her smile strained. "I am sorry his behavior and lies have caused such… actions, but they are nothing more than chemical imbalances and stress from his recent stint on Tarsus."

Amanda sat before this woman, wondering how anyone could not see past her lies. The constant shifting, the lack of eye contact, even the void of emotion in her voice, easily described the nervous behavior of a liar. Sitting on the edge of her chair, back straight, Amanda gave the commander a placating smile.

"I know you are doing the best you can for your son, just as I am doing for mine," Amanda's smile increased a fraction as relief crossed Winona's face, "however, Commander Kirk, you son consented to a mind meld with my husband."

Winona froze, eyes narrowing in anger and frustration. "I did not give consent-"

"James is of age as a Federation citizen upon a Starfleet vessel. He legally can and did give consent to the Vulcan Ambassador to enter his mind." Clasping her hands together in her lap, Amanda allowed concern to flash across her face. "Believe me, Winona… may I call you Winona? Please understand, even I do not understand the full scope of a mind meld, but I do know my husband was… affected by what he saw within your son's mind."

Pausing, the prim woman allowed the silence to continue; knowing by now Kirk's mind was quickly trying to come up with a reasonable comment without giving away her hand in the suffering of Jim.

"Affected…you say? How?" Winona hedged.

"Emotionally shaken. Something, in your son's past caused a physical emotional reaction… in a Vulcan."

Kirk swallowed loudly, eyes flickering towards the door. "Surely, the horrors he witnessed on Tarsus.."

Amanda nodded consoling, however her eyes narrowed. "Yes, of course, however he did not share those memories… no these were from his childhood. His time on your family farm in Iowa."

Amanda watched in fascination as a cold mask devoid of emotion settled over Kirk's face. "Mrs. Sarek, James had a normal childhood on Earth. It may not have included as many opportunities as your son had, however his needs were always met and he thrived. Now I insist you leave. I would like to spend some time with my son before he leaves." The commander stood, gesturing towards the door impatiently.

"Mrs. Kirk." Amanda hissed, standing before this awful broken woman. Moving forward, she stalked Kirk around the room until her back was pressed tightly in a corner. The ambassador's wife face transformed into a twisted ugly face full of malice.

"Our sons are suffering because of your ignorance Kirk, and I will not let it continue. James will be forcefully removed from your custody legally or spirited away in the night by silent ghosts. He will never feel the burn of your hand upon him and he will know a mother's love. He will be cherished as all children should be. And you… you will never see him again. You will rot a prison of your own making." Taking a step back and calming her features, Amanda smiled a nasty acidic smile. "And someday, in the near future, justice will prevail. You will suffer just as your son has. I promise you."

Then, quick as a flash, Amanda reached for Winona's neck and twisted violently, watching in satisfaction as the woman slumped to the floor.

"I will make sure you suffer for causing my son pain, you wretch," Amanda spat at the unconscious body.

Turning towards the back of the cabin, she ordered the computer to unlock the door.

"Invalid access code." Amanda snarled at the evidently clever woman, then tried her husband's override code.

"Invalid access code."

"Lady Amanda, perhaps I may be of some help?" a soft voice offered, from behind her. Turning, Amanda smiled in relief at Lieutenant T'Priya who stood silently in the entryway, eyeing the unconscious body of Commander Kirk with interest.

Stepping past Lady Amanda, the young Vulcan began to type furiously at the control panel next to the Jim's door.

"May I make an inquiry, Lady?"

The woman in question let out a quiet huff of laughter. "It was a nerve pinch Lieutenant… my husband wanted to make sure I was prepared for any peril I might find myself in."

The Starfleet officer, hummed thoughtfully, focusing on the code she was typing.

"Though, this was probably not the situation he was thinking about when he taught me." T'Priya coughed slightly, a tint of humor passing her lips as the door beeped.

"Access granted."

Standing the women watched at the door slid open, and froze at the screen displayed before them. So much red, still spreading across the floor away from it's fragile container. Amanda gagged, the metallic smell of blood was overpowering.

They were too late.


	9. Drifting

Drifting

He never knew his father; nevertheless he had received his face. In moments of despair, listening to his mother's sobbing echoing through the dreary farmhouse halls, James used to wish he could take his face off. Then morphing it into something different, he would sew it back on, finally allowing his mother some comfort. Somehow though, even in this his mother would find fault in him. Perhaps even in the transformed face she would see her dead husband reflected…. However James knew if he changed his face, his mother would merely have a different reason to cry, to suffer, for Jim would have destroyed the last physical reminder of his father, her husband, her only love.

As a child, Jim simply did not know enough of the world to find a pacifying solution to the disparity he suffered from. He knew his mother suffered seeing him and not his father, and he knew she would suffer if he disappeared, but that was long ago, when he actually craved his mother's attention, sought it out, and loved her unconditionally, as children do.

Locked away as he was in this small cage before his mother doped him into Morpheus' surreal embrace, he did not think of her affection or love, but the devastation Spock might feel as he passed. James stared at the mess of parts and his creation with bitter resentment. The machine was still missing key components however his focus was on the voices on the other side of the door.

Time had run out.

Searching for a scrap of paper, with trembling fingers James scribbled out a single sentence note, folded it in half before addressing it to Spock.

Their meeting had been brief, their time short, but Spock filled all the dark spaces in his soul with light and warmth. The young Vulcan made Jim feel strong… but in this isolation Jim's vulnerability grew with each gasp of breath.

The final instrument in this retro-drama, almost a remake of Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, was the tool lying sharp and benign on the bed. Black bladed, old and used, the knife dulled in the harsh overhead lights. While nothing to speak of, it did its duty beautifully, tearing through the soft flesh of necks, the tender underbelly of men with ease. It had been his constant companion on Tarsus IV, getting him out of desperate situations, just as it would now.

The voices grew louder.

Jim raised the knife, tightening his grip.

There was a slight pull as the sharp black blade tore through the pliant flesh of his thigh, severing the artery.

Jim fell to the ground, eyes clouding as his ears picked up rapid key typing.

He heard the door open to silence as his vision faded to black.

Time flowed differently during meditation, consciously Spock knew this. Hours in one's mind may be only minutes in the physical world or the exact opposite. This difference allowed for many telepaths to gain a better understanding of how their minds worked, overcoming obstacles and healing damage. During this time, moving slowly into deeper meditation, Spock was able to get an unbiased perspective on his life. He cherished these moments, able to review the flow of time, shrewdly studying the outcomes of his actions and the actions of others. Thus he was confused at the bleak darkness he shifted through, unable to focus on a particular moment. A faint humming sound whispered against his psyche, gently familiar, but unknown to the 17 year old Vulcan. He did not hum, and sound was only present during this phase of meditation when a memory was being analyzed. He had not started processing his memories, so the anomaly of the humming confused him.

Soothing low trills followed by desperate sharp short notes. The humming took on an almost pleading quality if, Spock were to anthropomorphize the sound and the longer he listened to the haunting tune, the more on edge his psyche became, as if it were a separate living entity having already completed the complex puzzle set before them. Abruptly the notes stopped causing the young Vulcan to stagger into consciousness, mouth shaping one newly familiar name.

"James."

_2 months later…_

Spring on Vulcan was hard to distinguish from the other seasons ravaging the desert planet. Over the years Amanda could catalogue the subtle changes which spoke of a different seasonal temperament but none were as drastic as the changing of the seasons on Earth. In the beginning she would become wearily depressed as the year passed, always wishing for the flourish in blooming spring brought to Earth but was hard to find in the dry arid wasteland of Vulcan. Now, though, she could appreciate the small changes each season brought. Spring on Vulcan was quiet. The air held slightly more moisture; the succulents bloomed in shaded areas and her private garden with genetically engineered Earth plants began to sprout. Spock and she had spent countless hours in the garden when he was young, exploring, discovering, and experimenting on how to keep their private oasis thriving throughout the year.

In his 17th year however, Spock spent little time in their garden. He stood leaning against the glass door leading to the backyard of their home, brown eyes unfocused as they had been since the disastrous trip aboard the USS Reliant. He was not the only one affected. Amanda could not bring herself to drink anything even remotely red in color, her mind immediately going to the sight of James' blood pooling around the thin motionless body. She could still smell the metallic odor of blood when watching others drink wine at the embassy functions. Spock… Amanda sighed, staring at her son in worry. Spock was not getting any better. His grief was raw and tender, because James was his first love, even if her son would not admit it.

Abandoned to this world, connection lost, Spock was ungrounded like a boat cast out to sea. Without an oar, rudder, or tool, he was relinquished to the ebb and flow of the waves; directionless in a vast ocean of darkness, where James had once been his guiding light.

While Spock is adrift, she has nightmares. Her trembling fingers covered in the young human's blood as she tried to slow down the bleeding, T'Priya's voice calling out commands to the computer for medics, then her son running in heedless, of the blood, of Jim's unconscious state or his rapidly slowing heart beat. The pulsing of blood against her hand through the cloth slows to a trickle and her eyes sting as her breath stops in her chest. Spock is calling out the young human's name, fingers pressed harshly against psi points, but even she knows without a pulse, a connection cannot be made.

With blood on her hands, tears in her eyes, Amanda can do nothing but watch as her beloved son shatters before her. He is broken in a way she could not mend.

Then they are pushed out of the way, as Jim's body is carted to the medical bay.

She wakes with a start every time this nightmare occurs, shivering and sobbing. With the absolute knowledge this is not a nightmare, but the dark reality they are faced with.

Turning away from her son, Amanda walks through the house aimless. The only positive consequence of those terrible days was the dishonorable discharge of Winona Kirk from Starfleet and the charges of child abuse against her and her second husband. Years too late, Amanda admits softly to herself as she settles into the window seat in her bedroom, overlooking her dying garden with resignation.

"You are the only one we could turn to."

Two Vulcans stood in the shade of the VSA building's shadow. One stood tall, ambassador robe drape pristinely across his body as his face scanned the passing pedestrians on the walkway 150 meters away. The other was clothed in a ravaged traveling cloak, hood pulled up casting his face into shadows. With his back turned to the public traffic, if anyone were looking he would appear to be just another shadow next to the Ambassador.

"A connection was made," rasped the figure.

"Yes, though a connection must be sustained for him to be reconnected," Sarek interrupted, dark eyes focusing on a small family crossing the street, their young Vulcan son walking between his parents dutifully.

"Reconnection is unnecessary."

Turning to his companion, Sarek raised an eyebrow. "All the mind healers spoke of his katra disconnected from his body. The two need to be realigned and a new connection formed. You, however, not of the mental healing arts, inform me his katra is still connected? What mystic powers do you delude yourself in having, for surely even Surak would question your conclusion."

"Surak would question a great many things about my life, thoughts and actions Ambassador, however of all your healers, I am the only one to have repeated exposure to melds between humans and Vulcans. I am the only one to have successfully melded with this boy. My conclusion does not waiver. If you want to save the life of this boy, his bondmate is the only one who could bring him back." The figure shifted, soft brown eyes briefly flashing in the light before shadows descend upon his face again.

"What of his bondmate during the meld?" Sarek pressed.

"As in any bond related meld, there are only two possible outcomes. Either they will both awake, or they will both stay connected."

The ambassador shifted his weight, turning his eyes to the sky as he focused his thoughts inward. Long moments of silence passed between the two men, broken only as the shrouded figure bowed and turned to leave.

"I am aware, the bondmate is your son. Would you deny him his t'hy'la, Ambassador? Is the life he is living, or not living if the rumors are accurate, worth this young human's life? Should they not be one in life and in death?" the figure questioned in parting as he merged into the crowd of the busy street.

Walking back into the VSA, Sarek thought on his predicament. By Surak he did not have a response to the older Vulcan. Whose life was more precious?

Straightening his clothes, Sarek made his decision and proceeded to make arrangements. The first, informing his wife of James Kirk's still breathing body.

The emptiness was heavy. When he was a child, his father spoke of bonds and what they meant to the Vulcan people. His mental arts' masters spoke stoically of their importance in balancing the cognitive functions of the brain. They all spoke of the significance, why it was necessary, of what might happen if the bond was lost or broken however none told him of the emptiness following the pain, as if a piece of himself was lost with the bond forever echoing in the confines of his psyche.

With each passing day the emptiness grew, leaving him keenly aware of his instability. The connection he had for most of his life was gone and there was nothing anchoring him to this place any longer.

"_Jim_…" Spock whispered, eyes watching as the second sun set before him.

Sometimes, deep in restless repose, Spock could still here his bondmate's voice, calling for him. He would chase the echoing of the soft, enticing voice only to be left in shadows. Every time Spock awoke heart pounding and gasping for breath.

_Spock._

The young Vulcan shuddered. Even in consciousness he was to be haunted, he thought bitterly.

_Spock!_

"Leave me be, siren! You have already left this realm."

_Spock!_

"Leave me alone!" Spock yelled at his own reflection in his window as he paced agitatedly, twisting and wringing his hands desperately.

"My son." Spock continued to pace, caught up in his own dangerous thoughts.

Amanda strode into the room, placing herself in his path. He paused before her, eyes bloodshot and dilated, breath coming in sharp gasps. She looked at her beloved son, aggrieved as he was, suffering so much at such a young age. The human woman prayed her news would begin to mend the damage done to her son. Reaching up, Amanda gently grasped Spock's shoulders and waited until his eyes once again rested on hers.

"My son. James Kirk lives. He lives… but he needs your help…"


End file.
